Mid year cooking exam
by Zora Arian
Summary: Teen!lock one-shot. Sherlock and Anderson are in Molly's cooking group for the exam. With them around, 'teamwork' has certainly taken on a whole new meaning...


**This is my take on how Sherlock and Anderson would be like if they were teens. Their disgust for each other is milder down here, so, yeah, hope you accept what's coming. Just a warning: loads of Sherlock-Anderson squabbling ahead. Don't say I didn't warn you :DDD**

* * *

"Alright, class. These pieces of paper has your name and group number on them. Be aware that your members for this mid-year cooking exam will also be your members for the final-year. Once you've collected your paper, you may begin," Ms Louise's strong voice cut through the chattering of the class, grabbing the attention of the students. They went to the front, grabbed their respective pieces of paper with either a grin or groan, and head over to their work stations to begin cooking.

Molly groaned internally when her group members were Sherlock and Anderson. One reason was that she was hoping to be in a group with either Donovan or Sarah, both being good cooks, and not with clueless guys who would make her do all the chopping and slicing. Another reason was that Sherlock and Anderson had the mutual feeling of antagonism between them. She was worried that instead of cooking the dishes they were supposed to be doing, they would try to cook each other.

"Why am I made to be in the same group as you?" Anderson complained, pointing a finger at Sherlock, then Molly. Molly gave him a rueful smile while Sherlock sneered.

"Yes, true. I would rather work with the squirrel hanging about the oak tree outside school. At least it can crack open nuts, unlike you, who'll have less luck opening a tin can of soup."

"WHAT?! You damn idi-"

"Okay, okay, stop," Molly got between the boys and stopped their bickering. "Can we start now? We only have 2 hours to serve up 4 dishes."

"Molly, you chop the onions," Sherlock ordered, not taking his eyes off Anderson's face, "while you fill up the pot with water. Won't be too hard for you, will it?"

"My god, when I get my ha-"

"Just go, Anderson. And Sherlock, please stop it. Your comments aren't going to help us get our As," Molly said to Sherlock.

"Even without my comments, Anderson's best grade would be a mere C."

Molly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began setting up the utensils needed to chop onions.

* * *

"Anderson! That's not salt; that's baking powder!" Molly restrained herself from lunging at the teen, who was giving her a lost look, his hand with the 'salt' hovering above the pot of boiling meat. She snatched the container from him and replaced it with the correct ingredient. "This is salt!"

"Sorry, Molly," he gave her a sheepish grin before adding half a spoonful of the salt into the pot.

"One way to know the difference between salt and baking powder is to taste them. Why don't you start with the salt?" Sherlock piped up from where he was dicing up the tomatoes, which was opposite of where Anderson was standing.

Anderson turned around and crossed his arms. "Hah. No way am I going to fall for that!"

"But you had actually considered doing so a few miliseconds ago," Sherlock deduced nonchalantly.

"You know what? Why do I even bother talking to you? From now on, don't talk to me!" Anderson growled at the curly haired boy with the tomatoes.

"Fine, I'm capable of doing that!" Sherlock spat back at the brunette still holding the salt.

Molly rolled her eyes from the sidelines at the spectacle. God, they can be childish sometimes…

* * *

"Molly, tell Anderson to check on the pastries in the oven, see if it's golden brown already," Sherlock asked Molly, who was standing beside him, to relay his message to his rival.

Eh?

"Molly, tell Sherlock that he has two perfectly working legs, and that he is able to check on the pastries himself," Anderson stopped her when she came over to him.

Huh?

"Molly, tell Anderson that if he has a pair of eyes on that face of his, he would then be able to see that I'm busy with squeezing the juice out of the oranges."

Umm…

"Molly, tell Sherlock that if he bothers to use what he calls 'a pair of eyes', he would be able to see that I have to keep stirring this sauce, lest it becomes lumpy again, like our previous attempt."

What is goin-

"Molly, tell Anders-"

"Molly, tell Sherloc-"

"Shut up, both of you!" she finally spoke up, wearing the oven gloves over her hands, "obviously **none** of you are going to take a look at the pastries any time now with that dumb communication thingy you're doing, so might as well I go and check them myself!"

She stomped over to the oven, lips set in a grim line. The same lips formed a small 'o' and her raising eyebrows accompanied it. Recovering from her shock, she quickly brought out the tray of pastries, made her way back to the boys, and slammed it on the counter, startling Anderson and surprising Sherlock.

"Now," she pointed at the blackened pieces of what was meant to be called 'tarts', glaring at the two teenagers, "I don't think this is 'golden brown'."

There was a moment of silence before Anderson broke it. "It seems to be more…black…than brown, for sure."

"I have to agree with you on that one…" Sherlock stood staring at the…tarts.

"You know what we're gonna do?" Molly asked them with false sweetness.

"Do another batch?" both answered simultaneously.

"YES. Now chop-chop! We've only got an hour left!" she almost shouted, rushing them back to their work stations and began to create a new batch of tarts.

* * *

"Molly, I need sugar now," Sherlock asked her 15 minutes later.

"Oh, it's not- ah, Anderson, can you pass the sugar to Sherlock, please?" she asked Anderson after noticing it being nearer to him rather than her.

Anderson did what Molly hardly thought he would do without any sort of complaint: he passed the sugar container to Sherlock. Sherlock even had the decency to murmur a 'thank you'. She frowned at the sudden civil treatment they gave each other before she was brought out of her thoughts by Anderson asking her to help him with the sauce as they were only left with a mere 45 minutes. Oh, so that's why they're amicable-it's the time constraint that's on their minds now, she thought, stirring the sauce. Looks like some people do care about their grades. She smiled at that last thought, with Anderson and Sherlock noticing it; the former rolling his eyes, thinking she was crazy to have positive thoughts at a time like this, the latter frowning at what the smile could mean in a circumstance like this.

Molly stopped stirring when she thought it thick enough, and slowed the fire. She then grabbed the pot with spaghetti they had made earlier on and transferred it into a plate filled with pictures of roses. While holding the pot mid-air and scooping some of the spaghetti onto the plate, she suddenly remembered.

"Oh god, Anderson, Sherlock: the tarts!"

"On my way," was Sherlock's reply, immediately dropping whatever he was doing to rush over to the oven.

"Coming," Anderson assured, just finished with the fruit cutting and was quickly making his way to the oven.

They met at the oven door, both confused as to why the other boy was there.

"She asked me to be here," Sherlock spoke up.

"No, she called my name first. So I'm supposed to be here," Anderson retorted.

"Really? After what happened the previous time, do you think she'll let you near the tarts?"

"Your 'method of communication' caused it, **genius**. Not my fault you wanted to verbally spar with me!"

"**I**, verbally spar with **you**? I would have a better debate session wi-"

"**ANDERSON, SHERLOCK: IT'S BURNING!**" a shrill female scream stopped their squabble instantly, and a faint smell of burning wafted into their noses.

Both looked at each other in a rare moment of mutual feeling: panic. "Uh-oh."

Anderson hurriedly opened the oven door while Sherlock grabbed the oven gloves nearby and took out the baking tray.

They brought it back to Molly, who was done with the spaghetti and had her hands on her hips, doing an interpretation of an angry Ms Louise.

"You guys bickered again, didn't you?" she asked, her tone soft and calm, which, given the circumstance, was also called 'chilling'.

When they both wisely decided not to answer, she sighed and scrubbed at her face. "Oh, never mind."

She took a peek at the tarts, and gaped. "You know what? Not 'never mind' anymore."

"Well, at least they're not as…black as the last batch," Anderson said, trying to comfort her, while giving another sheepish grin. Sherlock, with nothing better to say and was agreeing with him anyway, shrugged.

Molly decided that looking at half-blackened pastries was way better than Anderson's or Sherlock's face.

* * *

"Your spaghetti is quite delectable, your fruit salad and freshly squeezed orange juice adequate. But your…tarts-that-don't-look-like-tarts. Apparently you need more practice in that. Overall, however, a pass. B."

Molly was ecstatic at the grade her group had gotten. Despite all the bickering and insulting that happened, and one or two minor accidents, they had managed to snag a B.

"Pretty high, given our performance today," Sherlock frowned at the grade they had gotten. He had expected something lower, like a B- or C+, only because Anderson was there.

Anderson apparently could tell that Sherlock had expected a lower grade because he was in the group, and he countered, "I wasn't that bad, okay. It was mostly you and your big mouth that couldn't shut up that got us that B. Or else we would have gotten a B+, or even an A!"

Before Sherlock could supply another insult, Molly came between them again. "Hey, it's just the mid-year exam. B's great enough, given our 'performance' alright. Now that we're fully aware of each other's strengths and weaknesses, we'll be able to work better for the final-year, okay?"

"I still think it's better for me to work with the squirrel outside school," Sherlock muttered, receiving a scowl from Anderson.

Before either one could start another round of petty arguments, Molly made the impulsive act of hugging each of them, to bid them a job (sort of) well done.

Anderson stepped back a little after the hug, but then flashed her a wide smile of thanks. Sherlock, however, stood frozen, unsure of what had just happened and how to react to the hug. He stared at Molly, who beckoned to both of them to try their creations, and attempted to uncover her motive for the hug. But none came, and he unconsciously filed it in his mind palace, with all the other Molly-related actions that she had done and he had seen and not understood.

He snapped back to attention when Anderson nudged him with a light shove to the shoulder to try their spaghetti, and he took a bite, saying it needed a little more sugar and pepper.

"Can't you say something positive for once?" Anderson commented, rolling his eyes.

"Sure. How about 'It tastes great without Anderson's suggestion of adding sour cream to the sauce'?" Sherlock smirked.

"You damn idiot!"

"Anderson, it's getting old. You might want to start thinking of new names to insult me."

"Don't worry. I have a collection of 'wonderful' adjectives to describe you."

"Is one of them 'brilliant'?"

"No, it's 'infuriating jerk'."

"Ah, good one. For you, it's-"

Molly covered her face with her hands as the two of them continued, with their classmates looking on and rolling their eyes at their childish behaviour. Well, at least there's no tarts baking in the oven this time round.

* * *

**Hey there, just a short note. I think I'll be doing a sequel on this, on how they'll be during the final-year exam. If you're interested, please give me time to do it; I still need to study, and of course get inspiration. Anyway, hope you've enjoyed this :DDD**


End file.
